The Pink Fluffy Bunny Club

Nightmares and Racist Letters

I had the nightmare again.

The same nightmare I had a couple of days ago. Stupid, ugly nightmare. Not random. Still in my mind.

My nani. MFG.

I can't talk about it. It's painful. And scary.

I managed to shove it aside in the morning. And seeing MFG's face made me forget everything. But I remembered in class and I cried. I hate crying in public! It's one thing to cry in front of MFG - it's another to cry in class. I couldn't get that sight out of my mind, that feeling. I wanted a hug really badly!! But I asked MFG to squeeze my hand. That helped a lot.

The whole thing went out of my mind again. For a long time! Then I couldn't help but remember it while getting back home from work. No tears this time, thankfully. But the need for a hug - intense! I really wish MFG was there - really badly...

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In other things, there's a letter that's gone viral - famously titled 'Open Letter to a Punjabi Boy, from a South Indian Girl'. When I read it for the first time, I didn't concentrate much or read each and every line, and ultimately I thought it must be a joke letter or something - you know, similar to the joke letter that starts off as "Dear Santa, I'm writing this real slow because I know you can't red fast...". I thought it was weird but pretty funny for a joke letter. I got to know later on that it was a blog entry written by a female and it was in no way a joke letter.

That changed things for me.

Suddenly I couldn't help but read each and every line again. And it felt so wrong. Just so wrong.

It felt... racist.

First things first - I'm a south Indian. I know what it is like when someone says, "So you're a madrassi?". But to be fair, every south Indian I know tends to call everybody above the Vindhyas, Punjabis. If someone forgets that the South has four states, it isn't fair to them that the South also forgets that the North has many more states than that. So, if you think that calling someone from Kerala a madrassi is racist, also remember that you calling someone from U.P. a punjabi is racist too.

Secondly, Punjabi boys and Delhi boys are not the same thing. A Delhi guy can be from anywhere. He doesn't necessarily have to be from Punjab. Equating the two shows that you never paid attention in Geography and neither does the logic part of your brain work.

Thirdly, not all Delhi guys are ignorant, chauvinistic oafs. I know there are guys who lech, and I've already ranted against guys who think that the only purpose of their life is to constantly keep hitting on girls and making them feel uncomfortable. But it's not so with everyone. I know quite a few guys who respect women and are damn sweet. And they're north Indians. Furthermore, I've also known south Indian guys who are ignorant and chauvinistic and complete imbeciles. Something tells me this behaviour doesn't exactly pertain to your geographical roots.

Fourthly, dressing style. Do we really need to go into this?? I know that loud dressing is eech!! But to contain this phenomenon within Delhi/North India (I've sort of lost track about who she's referring to by this time) is sheer foolishness. I've seen examples of really horrible dressing everywhere - north, south, west. Too bad I've never been to the east. And I still can't get over the four years of bad dressing examples I'd seen in Hyderabad when I'd lived there for 4 years. I was 12 during my last year there, but I still haven't forgotten. Wearing trousers with slippers figures most prominently in my head. Yes, I've actually seen that.

Fifthly, society free of any discrimination. This one makes me laugh! I'm lucky to have been born in a family which loves its daughters as much as its sons. Yes, lucky. Do you have any idea how orthodox people are down south? There's so much I want to write but I won't because they're not my stories and I wouldn't want to write someone else's story without at least asking for their permission first. Actually, I do have a story of my own, but it's something that I try not to think about, so that wouldn't go on this page. No discrimination? That's funny!!

Now I'm just feeling bad for this female. I don't want to go on because I'm tired. I can find a hundred things wrong with this article. It's far too biased and bitter. The one thing I was in consonance with was the whole ' All south Indians are black' thing, which actually does make me see red. But the rest is just plain unfair.

I've lived almost my entire life in the north. I feel at home in Delhi. I'm a Delhi girl at heart. And I have friends from here whom I love and who are sweet and funny and awesome. The guy I'm in love with is a Delhi guy and he's not even 0.0001% of what this female makes a Delhi guy out to be. He's awesomer than Batman, Iron Man, Spiderman and Superman all rolled into one. And amazingly sweet and very respectful. I could go on!

I know that taking offense to something doesn't always seem right to people. But I stand by what I feel. A joke letter is light humour.

This letter isn't one.

What if I tell you that I'm scared? Like scared, scared. Do you think you'll get it?

No, I'm not trying to insult your intelligence. I very well know that you would know what fear is. Wold perhaps have opened the dictionary when you were a kid and found out what Webster decided to define it as. And if you've read Asterix, you'd also know that Normans don't know the meaning of feeeaaar!! And neither does anyone from Asterix's village, but everyone knows that.

I wish I was from Asterix's village.

I had a bad dream. Simple. But the crazy part is that I don't remember it - just the fact that it scared me like hell. I mean, it's not everyday that you wake up and feel like crying. Or feel the same way in bits and pieces throughout the day. I kept feeling bipolar. I'd be happy and relaxed for quite a good chunk of time, and then I'd suddenly remember the fear - never the dream, just the fear - and I'd feel like crying all over again. College - check. Office - check. I somehow seemed to calm down after reaching home, though not as much as I'd hoped for. But better.

I just heard MFG's voice. It helped calm me down. With him, it's like magic! He just makes me feel really happy and relaxed and secure and unafraid of anything. He's a magical guy! And I love him!! ^_^

Ooh! Cobwebs!!

*dusts this place since she really doesn't like cobwebs*

It's just... they have spiders! I don't like spiders!

*feels happy with her bad-joke-of-the-hour*

Today's agenda - try to figure out how to beat up someone using a kambal and a lathi. And I mean that in a perfectly non-nonsensical manner.

This is not a confession. Or an admission. Don't send me to jail plzkthnx.

 

A Happy Cat is a Happy Cat

Furry litttle happy cat
Rolling in the sea,
FL. OAT. I. N. G.
First comes splish,
Then comes splash,
Then come leg cramps and whiplash.

Weird Cat

My cat doesn't understand the meaning of the word 'no'. He lives in this happy world, somewhat like that of Allie Brosh's simple dog, where all that is relevant is going outside on the balcony, verbally abusing tomcats, hitting on the female ones, sleeping and eating his nuggets.

While sleeping at night, he'll wake up occasionally to project a bout of the cat crazies. This includes:
- suddenly jumping off the bed begging to be let out, only to come back in after a couple of minutes.
- chomping on the wire of my phone charger.
- chomping on my earphones (I can't make up my mind whether they look so woebegone because of use of because of his teeth and claws).

As I said before, 'no' doesn't work on him. Not if I say it at least. Neither does 'stop' or 'you're mad!'. The only way to get him to stop ruining stuff is to run after him like a headless chicken. And it works 98% of the time.

He also went through a phase in which he replied to everything I called him except his name.  There actually was a time when I would call him a gadha and he would look at me. I'm trying to control my impulses. What blaady identity crisis, no?

I probably could go on about all the idiocy that takes place. And I will. Some other time though. Right now, there are a few wires which need me.

Up, up and away!

Hate at First Sight

Have you ever hated someone you've only just met?

Yes, hated. For absolutely no reason at all.

I can understand when there's a reason. Sometimes you get a "feeling" that the other person is a bitch. Or a serial-killer. Or a T-Rex in disguise, though that would be pretty awesome. But when there's none? Also, using the word 'hate' isn't something I do generally. In fact, I stay away from that word if possible. I tend to use 'dislike' or 'intense dislike' to convey my feelings, but 'hate'?? No.

Today, I met our new driver for the first time. He's been with us for barely 4-5 days, but I met him today because he had to drive me down to the doctor for my appointment. Had it not been for the stupid kids who think it's their prerogative in life to bombard every living creature with water balloons a week before Holi, I wouldn't even be writing this post. Stupid water balloons.

Anyway, I sat in the car. The first thing I noticed was that he drove fast. I told him to slow down and he did. And then it happened.

I got this sudden feeling of hate. Pure, inexplicable hate.

I didn't want to be in the car with him. Once we reached the main road, he started behaving as if he owned the streets, and that didn't help either. However, that only causes me irritation. Hatred? Never.

I remember entering the lobby of my doctor's clinic. I was scared. I didn't just hate him. I was shit scared and wanted to cry. I had no idea in the whole wide world why I felt that way, but I did. And I dreaded going back to the car. I remember trying to read the issue of 'Outlook' that was on the table. It had Baba Ramdev on it and it declared that he was about to venture into politics. Before I could turn another page, I was showed in to my doctor.

By this time I had started relaxing a bit. I labelled myself an idiot for hating the new driver without even knowing him. I went out, got my meds and told myself to stop judging the guy. After that, the only thing I remember is sitting in the car and feeling like the walls were closing in on me.

I stll hated him.

I must have spent just over 5 minutes with our new driver today. Yet, I can't bring myself to think about how horrible I felt for no rhyme or reason. I hated someone and was shit scared for no reason. How horrible is that?

Right now, it's been about 7 hours since the whole thing happened, and I'm starting to feel ridiculous again. I can't believe that I hated him so much. I don't hate! I don't!! Yet, he made me feel that way. Why, I'll never know.

A Break from Thinking

Somedays I feel like writing random stuff. Something without stopping to think through. I need a non-thinking session and you, whoever you are, is going to be privy to something that will truly blow your mind. Like literally.

My randomness is an atom bomb :D

I'm sitting here thinking about nothing in particular. Or maybe a lot. My hair feels like vermicelli. I look at vermicelli packets lying in the kitchen cupboards, remember my hair and suddenly feel hungry. I don't know why that's happening. I just had three cookies I bought from Subway yesterday. Three cookies! And I'd had lunch before that. I wonder why I'm writing about food. Real time thinking without thinking. What shit, i say to myself. I suddenly wonder if my grammar is correct. I don't know. And frankly, I don't really care. My fingers are flying over the keyboard and I wonder how busy and serious I must be looking. Okay, i don't really care about that eithet because I'm starting to feel hot. I want to start wearing skirts. I have an excessive fondness for skirts and dresses and anything summery. I want to start wearing skirts! I don't mind wearing them with stockings either. Except stockings aren't really good when you start feeling hot. I remember the moot competition in Bombay last year. I'd worn a skirt and stockings and, boy, I wish I had burnt those stockings. They had started suffocating me. If my legs had a neck, they'd be strangling it. My poor legs. Sigh. Damn.... I just wish I could eat vada pav right now. And I'm back to food again. I can't really understand why. Or perhaps it's because I want to have fries right now. There's a craving that hasn't been satisfied yet. Fries. Loads and loads of golden, juicy fries with heaps of tomato ketchup. Mmmmmm..... I just want to start thinking about something other than food at the moment. I start thinking about the way I accidentally kicked my cat sometime ago. I scared him like anything. He woke up with a jolt and promptly went off to sleep. What an idiot, I think to myself. Again, the grammar part pops up into my head. And my neck has started hurting. The neck reminds me that a certain person has to see a doctor and how I'm going to nag him even more if he doesn't. Nag, nag, nag, nag, nag. I hate nagging. But sometimes it's necessary. I just start thinking about stars and fireflies and beaches. I want to go to Pondicherry and sit on the beach and have ice-cream. I used to love doing that. Also, having fish from the seaside cafe - that's another thing I'm never going to forget. My grandad taking me out for chocolates and shakes and god knows what - food again. Fish! I think I need to stop writing. One day I'm going to write a story just like this. Maybe the kind that I'd made up in front of Arpita yesterday. It was weird but fun and reminded me of Fatty from the Mystery series by Enid Blyton. It was fun. Fun, funny, fun :D

 

The End. For Now.

Muahahahahaha!

How Bollywood Is Screwing With My Brain

I had the weirdest dream last night.

Now, generally, I do have weird dreams. Dreams in which i'm falling from mountains/waterfalls, getting lost in jungles/mazes/compendium of buildings, dreams within dreams a la Inception. But yesterday I had a truly freaky dream.

No, sorry, nightmare.

The setting was very realistic. It was my house. I was sitting on my bed and reading. For some reason there was a tailor on the rear balcony, stitching away to glory. I got up and went to the front door and heard footsteps. I looked through the peephole and saw two huge, hairy guys - one of whom looked suspiciously like Himesh Reshammiya. The Himesh doppelganger decided to peek through the peephole. I screamed nightmare! in my head and ran back to my room. After five minutes I came out and saw those two hairy apes in my living room!

Hain??

I told them to leave. They ignored me. It freaked me out like crazy. Yes, having huge hairy strangers in your living room, who got in without making absoutely any noise at all, is freaky. I ran to our neighbour's house for help. Mr. Neighbour (same name, different person, I think from some reject villain hell) said he'd help me out, but first I had to touch everyone's feet - you know, the one that's supposed to humiliate rather than show respect - and I had to start with the youngest kid, who looked about 3 years old and totally unlike his real grandkid, and move on to a few hundred chacha-chachis, taya-taijis, the like. Okay, about 20.

At this point, even my dream self said what the bladdy faaack?!! I tried lifting my middle finger, but since I was still dreaming and had to follow a script (presumably), I touched everyone's feet, true Alok Nath ishtyle, browbeaten and humiliated. I went downstairs and found that both the goons had disappeared. Then Mr. and Mrs. Neighbour came down to assert themselves. By this point even my dream self was sick of the whole effin thing and banged the door in their faces.

At which point I mercifully woke up.

The. End.

When You're 22, You're 7

It doesn't matter how old you get. You could be 10, 20, 40 - you're all ages at different times. Sometimes you are 4, another time you can be 15, maybe another time you will be your actual age. It doesn't matter. You're 1, 2, 3, 4, 5.....

It's weird, what can compel you to be a different age. I discovered today that I'm supposed to be coming to college on a day when none of my friends would be coming, due to the fact that I have a different subject from theirs. Normally it wouldn't affect me, but today, for some horrible, unknown reason, it did.

I was 7 years old.

I wanted to cry. I actually told MFG that I wanted to cry. I remember wanting to bury my face in his chest. I have no idea what made me feel so sad. It's okay for my friends to not come to college for one day, isn't it? And because I took a different subject, I have no right to complain.

But I still felt 7 years old.

We went up for class. I couldn't pay attention. I just cupped my face in my hands because I still felt like crying. MFG, the sweetheart he is, told me that he'd come to college nevertheless. It didn't seem fair. It's not. He's got a break and he should enjoy it - not come to college because of me.

I felt 15 years old.

The more I thought about it, the more I realised how silly my attitude was. I tried to figure out why I was feeling this way. I couldn't. I then tried paying attention to my teacher. Her explanations were choppy and lacked a proper flow. Pretty disconcerting. Boring. I looked over at MFG. He was super-bored. Looking at him made me smile. He can always make me smile. He started playing a game on his phone. I turned my head to try and pay attention to what the teacher was saying about trademarks.

I was 22 years old again.

Or maybe a happy 7 year old :)

A Short Post That'll Make You Happy Because It's Short

When people are sad, they shop.

When people are sad, they drink.

When people are sad, they binge on food.

When I'm sad, I paint my nails red.

Actually I might do that even when I'm happy, but explaining that would make this post long, and after the disclaimer in the title, I can't let that happen. So, say Yayy!! for red nail paint.